As They Slip Away (Across the Universe 2.50)

The gallery’s overhead lights click on when the solar lamp clicks off. Luthor growls at the change in light, but barely pauses.

I move behind him, inspecting the work he’s done.

The sculpture is beautiful, far more beautiful than me. The clay version of me is smooth and lithe, more graceful in her stillness than I could ever be when I move.

“ Can you— ” he starts, then gets distracted by his sculpture, smoothing down a ridge in the clay. I watch as his hands run over the surface. He must be nearly finished—the sculpture looks so real now, as if this perfect earthen copy of me will lift her feet up and step from the narrow base.

Luthor’s hands move to her forehead, four fingers on each hand swirling across the sculpture’s brow, over her closed, delicate eyelids, along her cheeks, down the hollows of her neck, straining with a silent song, lingering on her collarbone and trailing, finally, finally, coming to rest on her clay breasts.

I take a shaky breath.

“I like to make the lines smooth,” Luthor says, his attention still on his sculpture.

“Everything has to blend together. ”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, my voice softer than I’d intended.

He pauses now, and turns to look at me. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

He lifts his mud-coated hands toward me, then stops. I lean forward. He touches me on my forehead, just as he touched his sculpture, and I close my eyes, pressing my face into his hand. I ignore the clay he leaves on my skin, relishing the feel of his gentle finger trailing over my face, down my neck, across my collarbone . . . but he stops. I open my eyes.

He pulls me closer to him.

And the kiss we share makes me glad that I’m not just an empty, clay girl.

6.

I don’t go back to the Hospital until well after dark, and when I do, I leave Luthor in our studio. He’s still working like mad on the sculpture, even though, to me, it looks complete.

I wander down the path between the Recorder Hall and the Hospital. I’ve spent half my life in love with Bartie, who never really noticed me, and now here’s Luthor, who I’d never really seen before, and there’s this thing between us that I’ll never be able to ignore again.

Near the pond, a huge monstrosity grows up from the ground. Kayleigh’s work—a mobile metal sculpture that looks half organic, half nightmare. She’s used some sort of reddish-clear gel to create the appearance of fire at the base, and added groping metal arms reaching through the flames, up to the sky. But our sky is made of metal too, and if this sculpture is grasping for freedom, it will just meet another wall.

Harley’s fresco looks like nothing but a plaster sheet—I suspect he’s been busier looking at Kayleigh than doing any work. He usually paints every day, but he’s been rather distracted by the fact that Kayleigh’s no longer turning him away.

I’m in a silent, contemplative mood by the time I make it back to the Hospital.

“ Hey, Selene! ”

I jump, surprised by the sudden voice.

“I ’ve been waiting for you,” Bartie says, smiling up from the comfy couch in the common room. A trill of music follows his words; his guitar lies on his lap, his fingers unconsciously strumming the strings.

I cross the room and sit in the chair opposite him. A month ago, finding out that Bartie had been waiting up just to see me would have made my face flush and my knees shake. But now, I can still feel Luthor’s kiss on my lips.

“ Why? ” I ask simply.

“Victria . . . ” His voice trails off.

This would be the point, a month ago, that would have made me want to cry. But the part of my heart that will always recognize that Bartie was my first love is silent.

“I ’m sure she’ll come around,” I say. “Victria’s not a very, I don’t know, emotional person. But I bet she’ll fall for you eventually. ”

Bartie laughs. “No, that’s not what I meant! ” Still, he’s pleased with what I said.

“Then what?”

Bartie shifts uncomfortably, his hand going back to his guitar, running his fingers up and down the strings. “Victria said you . . . and Luthe . . . ”